


Resurrection

by zelda_zee



Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 19:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6163561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zelda_zee/pseuds/zelda_zee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flint would have him, come what may.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resurrection

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers! Inspired by the video clip for ep 3.07 in which Silver refers to himself as a "one-legged creature". It hurt, so I had to try to make it better.
> 
> Picks up immediately after the clip ends.
> 
> Wrote it quick to get it posted before the ep airs, please forgive any mistakes.

“Silver, stay a moment.”

Vane and Billy turned to look at him, then at Silver. Flint saw a look pass between Billy and Silver before Billy exited, followed by Vane.

It was on impulse that he had held Silver back. Now that the door had closed and it was just the two of them in the cabin, Flint was unprepared. To give himself a moment to marshal his thoughts he turned toward the window, staring out at their wake cutting through the gray water.

“Captain?” Silver asked. “Was there something you wanted?”

Flint turned, taking a closer look at Silver. The man had been an unlikely constant in his life for so long now that Flint had come to take his presence for granted. He had gone from an irritation so great that Flint had barely refrained from ending him on multiple occasions to something entirely different – a partner of sorts, a bulwark, protecting him from… Flint paused in his thoughts, realizing that what Silver protected him from wasn’t at all what he had at first assumed. Silver protected him from himself, from his own worst excesses and the darkness that seemed to never cease in its efforts to drag him under.

The man looked worn down to the bone, new lines on his face etched by pain and trauma, dark circles under his eyes, his skin no longer glowing with vitality. With his beard and his hair tied in a queue he looked older, harder. He was no longer the smiling, teasing, all-too-clever charmer he had been when he and Flint had met. He could not be that any longer, not now that he wore the boot. His physical grace and boundless energy had been rent from him and he was forced to fill the empty spaces within him with something new and foreign. Silver had changed in ways other than the most obvious, and Flint was dismayed that he had failed to notice it until now.

He cleared his throat, bringing his mind back to the topic at hand, to why he had held Silver back in the first place.

“What you said,” he began, “when the subject of my return from the dead was discussed. You called yourself a ‘one-legged creature’.”

He watched Silver’s face for any sign of emotion flickering across it, some slight tell that may give a clue to his thoughts, but the man was perfectly impassive. Flint well knew the will it took to school one’s features with such discipline.

“Is that how you see yourself now? Do you believe that the loss of your leg has changed you so utterly?”

Silver held his eyes for a moment, then looked away.

“Hasn’t it?” Silver laughed and the sound grated harshly. He gestured to indicate his leg, his body. “I do not know what I am anymore. I do not recognize this – _thing_ that I have become _._ ”

Flint took a quiet breath. The degree to which Silver’s declaration affected him was unexpected.

“You are changed, I do not deny it,” Flint acknowledged. “But you are still John Silver, and John Silver is a man, not a creature - not a _thing_.”

Silver smiled humorlessly. “John Silver was never real. I made him up out of whole cloth, did you know that? It’s not even my name.”

Flint was not surprised. He had, in fact, assumed that Silver had adopted the name, as was common practice for those who went on the account.

“Regardless, you _are_ John Silver now. And you are of great value to me and to this crew. Do not think yourself less of a man for having suffered this injury. You must not let it define you or it will eat you alive.”

Silver opened his mouth as if to reply then closed it and looked at the floor. When he spoke it was so quietly that Flint could barely hear him and so could not be sure whether the quaver in his voice was merely a figment of his imagination.

“I do not know why you would care.”

This was the crux of it, and Flint had been the one to open the door that led to this place by broaching such a sensitive topic, and because it was his doing he must see it to its end. Because, try as he might to fight it, he _did_ care, and he could not bear to see Silver so diminished in his own estimation that he would refer to himself as a thing not even human.

Silver’s head came up, his eyes wide as Flint stepped up to him, close enough that he felt Silver’s breath against his cheek. He slowly raised his hand, placed it carefully upon the side of Silver’s face, his fingers sliding into the hair at his temple, his thumb gently tipping his chin upward just the slightest bit.

Silver’s face was a perfect portrait of astonishment and it almost made Flint smile to have taken Silver, who was always one step ahead of everyone, so completely by surprise.

“What are you –?”

“What I should have done a long time ago,” Flint said and brought his mouth down on Silver’s.

He had expected Silver to balk. He had expected protest. It did not deter him, but he expected it. But Silver stayed true to his seemingly limitless ability to surprise him.

He kissed Flint back, opened for him soft and sweet, moaned deliciously when their tongues met. His kiss was heady and ardent and it felt like whatever Flint poured into him he would take. He pulled Silver close, so that their bodies were pressed tightly together, his hand traveling down his back until it rested on the enticingly plush rise at the base of his spine. Silver wrapped an arm around Flint's shoulders, the other holding the back of his head, keeping him in place, as if Flint had any intention of stopping.

The kiss deepened, mouths wide against each other. Flint wanted more, he wanted to give Silver everything he needed, he wanted to take from Silver all that he would give. His hand cradled Silver’s head as he leaned forward. Silver’s hands slipped on the table and something fell to the floor with a crash. Silver clung to him, fingers digging into the muscles in Flint’s shoulder, a bright flare of pain where the slash from Teach’s sword had caught him. It punched a sound from deep in Flint’s chest that Silver answered with a sound of his own, raw and needy, and it made Flint ache to hear it, made him just fucking desperate for more. He wanted to put his mouth everywhere on this stupid, beautiful, deceitful man, he wanted to drive him wild, he wanted to bury himself so deep in John Silver that he’d never emerge, and no, he did not give an ever-loving _fuck_ that the man was lacking a leg.

Flint drew back and they stared at each other, panting. Silver’s eyes were feral, dark and hungry and just looking at him was enough to make Flint crazy.

After all these years of privation, this was the man he would have, Flint thought, bemused by his own contrariness. The most irritating person he had ever known, trickster and liar and master manipulator. A one-legged pirate who never wanted the life, who hated the sea, who’d not even still be a member of his crew if not for his misfortune. A mystery that Flint needed to unravel. An equal strong enough to withstand him. Flint would have him, come what may.

“You don’t care about this?” Silver asked, and Flint had no need to ask to what he was referring. The flicker of uncertainty in Silver’s eyes told the story plainly enough and Flint would not have it.

He pushed Silver back against the table and with a single jerk tore his trousers open so violently that buttons flew across the room. Flint smiled wickedly, sinking to his knees. “No,” he said, and licked his lips. “I really don’t.”

Silver’s cock was pretty, his taste like the sea. He moaned gratifyingly when Flint swallowed him down, the sound reverberating in his ears with a timbre that Flint knew would echo long after they were finished here. Shaking fingers stroked over his head and Flint had a moment of regret for his hair, which Silver could have taken in his fist and pulled. But such thoughts were eclipsed by the overwhelming sensation of Silver’s cock heavy on his tongue, the scent and the taste and the heft of it, the way being on his knees, of being full in this way, of giving pleasure to this man made him feel, like something that had been wrong inside him for a long time had slid smoothly into place and he could believe, for this moment, that he could be whole again.

Flint slid down, taking him as deep as he could. It had been so many years since he had done this that he had lost some skill, though Silver did not seem to feel the lack, trying to thrust his cock deeper into Flint’s throat with such determination that Flint had to take hold of his hips and hold him firmly to the table.

“Sorry,” Silver gasped, though he still writhed against Flint’s grip.

Flint drew back, giving Silver’s cock a flick of the tongue as he withdrew. Silver stared at him and he knew he must look a sight, mouth wet and lips swollen, the depth of his want no doubt written plainly upon his face.

“Sorry,” Silver said again. “I’ll hold still, just don’t stop.”

He groaned lavishly when Flint sucked him down again, trembling in an effort to keep still. Flint took Silver’s balls in one hand a finger stretching back to rub over the tight pucker of his hole. Silver made a low, animal cry, and Fint sucked hard and rubbed over it again and Silver threw his head back with a groan, wracked by shudders, and was undone, spilling hotly down Flint’s throat.

Flint tore at his own trousers, took himself in hand with a sharp hiss at the nearly painful feeling as he stroked, so close to the edge was he. It was not how he would have chosen to come, by his own hand and painting the floor with his release, but it had gone too far for anything else. It took only a couple of fast pulls and he was overtaken by a bone-deep delirium that left him gasping open-mouthed against Silver’s belly, his face pressed into his damp skin, one hand clutching at his hip.

Flint remained there, motionless, Silver’s scent, his warmth, surrounding him, for far longer than he should. The cabin was quiet but for the sound of their breathing and the ever-present noise of the ship as she carried them home. Silver’s fingers touched his head lightly, then more confidently slid to the back of his skull to hold Flint to him.

Flint thought there must be something he should say, some explanation or excuse. Part of him wanted to push Silver away, but that would avail him nothing. He did not want to disavow Silver, or go back to how they had been before. There was nothing back there for either of them but pain and loneliness.

He thought of Miranda, how she had come to him in a dream. Of what she had said. It could not be this that she had foretold, could it? That was foolish, yet the thought remained, stubbornly refusing to fade.

When he rose to his feet, he did not turn away from Silver or dismiss him now that they were finished. Instead, he placed his hand beneath Silver’s chin, looked into his startled eyes, and kissed him, soundly, thoroughly and without reservation, telling him all and everything more clearly than he ever could with words.


End file.
